


Home

by The_White_Rabbit42



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Needy Gabriel, Winchester Sister, a touch of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 01:59:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16734876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_White_Rabbit42/pseuds/The_White_Rabbit42
Summary: It’s hard to be normal when what you need, who you are, and who you have is anything but that, but it doesn’t stop you (and Gabriel) from trying.





	Home

 

“Honey, I’m home!”  Gabriel’s dramatic announcement carries from the front of the house clear through to the kitchen.  

 

It amazes you how he uses the front door instead instead of flying in anymore.  Whether he’s finally gotten sick of you ruining his nice shirts (stabbing still tends to be your go-to panic response), or he’s decided to try and uphold the guise of normalcy you’re trying to emulate, you’ll never know.  While so much has changed, some things never will, and Gabriel, being Gabriel, makes you pay for straight answers in concerted effort and a level of frustration that easily shaves three years off your lifespan. 

 

Whatever the reason, it’s nice, though you’re not sure you’ll ever fully get used to it.  Mostly because you know you’ll never be what you pretend to. There’s a thousand different reminders on any given day that whisper with how this is just an act.  Today, it’s in the way you recall the exact number of footsteps he needs to cross the house and in how you diligently tick off the seconds it takes for him to appear.  

 

He rarely stops along the way, always as eager to lay eyes on you as you are him.  Yet, he never races, and you always force yourself to remain wherever it is you are, because most people don’t need to act like every day might be their last.

 

You feel him enter more than you see him in your peripheral, his presence brimming with angelic energy he just can’t seem to tame when he’s around you.  He pauses, leaning against the doorway as he watches you chop away at your ingredients. Who knew you’d be good at filleting anything other than monsters?

 

A smile blooms across his face, wide and warm, and you wonder what he sees.  Is it the sheer domestication that pours off the entire situation that tickles him?  Or perhaps it’s the pattern of pigs with wings on your new apron, harkening back to your remark about settling down  _ when pigs learn to fly _ .  

 

You avoid looking directly look at him.  You know the moment you do, dinner will become a distant thought.  You’ll simply melt, and all you’ll want to do is be close to him, to drown in golden depths while running your fingers through silken strands of honey.  You thought you couldn’t get enough of him before, but now you ache whenever he’s gone. Literally. A tightness encompassing your chest along with the need to see, touch, smell, taste,  _ know _ .  That he is still there, solid.   _ Alive.  _

 

He finally straights again, sauntering toward you with a, “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”     

 

Curiosity has him glancing at the various items in front of you, but his focus is solely on closing the distance.  He moves behind you, an arm enveloping you securely as he leans around the side of your face and presses a kiss to your cheek.  His hand is warm, but the tip of his nose carries a hint of chill, causing goosebumps to ripple out from where he begins to nuzzle you with it.  There’s an air of freshness clinging to him that’s crisp and almost makes you want to step outside yourself.  _  Almost. _  Because he is not there, but here, breathing you in with one long, sweeping breath. 

 

“Something new I saw online.”  You inclines your head to the iPad on the counter next to you.   He barely gives it a look, and instead turns his attention to pressing small, affectionate kisses along the side of your jaw that say he’s missed you just as much as you have him. 

 

“I got you something on the way home, today…”  His other hand creeps around the side of you, a beautiful bouquet filled with fall colors shrouding the green and red of the vegetables you’ve been prepping.  “I think the florist might be getting sweet on me, with the deal I got on these.” 

 

You take the flowers from him with a snort, eyes drifting over to the four vases on the table already filled from this week.  “I’m sure it has nothing to do with how you’re single handedly putting at least one of his kids through college.” 

 

“Mmm, not talking about the owner.  His assistant.  _ Eduardo _ .”  He gives the  _ r _ a drawn out, sultry roll, arms shifting tightly over yours to pull you back against him.  “Though I’m sure the special tip I always give him helps.”

 

You turn enough to meet his gaze, brow inching up as you give him a falsely measured look.  “So long as it’s  _ just  _ the tip you’re giving him…”

 

He laughs, a genuine bark that makes his eyes light up and crinkle at the corner in ways you hadn’t seen until the two of you took off together. Away from his family drama.  Away from yours. Leaving behind the the toxic, well-meaning misguidance from both sides of the fence. 

 

“Don’t worry, hot cake, that part of me is one hundred percent, unequivocally  _ yours _ .” He brings his face closer, his nose rubbing yours for a short series of Eskimo kisses that has warmth suffusing through your chest and your heart dancing.    

 

“Better be,” you murmur, mouth seeking his in confirmation.  And what an assurance you receive when he captures your lips like there is nothing sweeter and more precious in the universe to him.  He snaps, and the flower disappear from your hands, allowing him to turn you around so he can kiss you properly; hands cradling your face, keeping you close, drinking you in so deeply you can barely breathe.  

 

Dinner never had a chance.  

 

There’s that signature click of his fingers again, this one sending you both straight to your bed.  You’re not certain why you thought  _ this _ Friday would end any different.  He’s done this every week since he’s started working, and you know the routine by now, your hand already behind his thigh, guiding it to your hips as he hooks it around you.  

 

You’re not certain when the apron has disappeared, only that it poses no hindrance.  Neither does his jacket, the heat of his body easily seeping through the material of his shirt and yours.  He pulls you tight against him, and it’s like he’s trying to absorb you, his need overflowing beneath every point of contact.  He relishes closeness in a manner most people could never fathom, and the way his mouth joins yours again echoes how much this intimacy transcends physical desire.  

 

You can tell by the need that thrums through him, spilling over onto you, that he could do this for hours.  You, on the other hand,  _ can’t _ .  Your human limits keep him tethered, guiding him back before he loses himself completely.  He waits until the very last moment, enjoying every drop of you he can before pulling away, resting his forehead against yours as he allows you some much needed air.   

 

What you feel is indescribable.  Heady. Euphoric. Like you’re drunk, not just on his being, but the wholeness you feel on a level you never thought possible.  Above all else, there is freedom that blossoms in these moments where the world, time, existence all cease to be and there is nothing but you and him.  

 

Your breathing has almost evened out by the time he lays his head on your chest.  It’s an instinct, to wrap your arms around him, holding him as snug as the leg that still clings to your waist.  Your fingers find their way into his hair, carding through the curls gathered at his neck, and you savor every second of simple contact you’re allowed.  

 

“Do I  _ have  _ to spend forty-three hours a week away from you?”  

 

You almost laugh at how petulant he sounds, and at the fact he tries to act like he didn’t tell you last weekend, on a rant, that his job makes him leave for exactly forty-two hours, thirty-six minutes, and fifteen point twenty seven seconds.  You’re swept away, however, with a swelling symphony of sentiments at the thought that this infinite being doesn’t want to be without you a second longer than necessary. 

 

It takes you a moment to find your words.  “A big house in the country requires a big income.”  It’s not exactly what you want to say, but you know better than to give voice to things you barely understand, let alone try to explain them to him.  

 

That and you’re just as dodgy as he is these days when it comes to laying all your cards out on the table.  

  
He lets out a slow breath through his nostrils, and you can sense his disappointment welling up within him, and the quietness of his tone only confirms it.  “I told you I’d take care of you.”

 

You hold him even tighter, his words squeezing at your chest.  “You  _ do  _ take care of me, Gabriel.  With or without the big kitchen with an island and granite countertops.”  

 

You know he’d given you those things because you’d never had them.  He might have been the only person who didn’t just want a better life for you, but actually tried to make it happen.  In truth, you could take this quiet place in the country or leave it. It was the time and privacy with him that meant everything.   

 

“I’m just happy to still have you.”  You almost aren’t able to tell him that, your focus shifting to fend off intrusive snippets of memories you want nothing more than to wipe from your mind.  Your bury your face against the crown of his head, filling every one of your senses with him. 

 

“You weren’t supposed to be there.”  The admission catches you off guard, draws you back with startling haste.  “I never wanted you anywhere near Lucifer, let alone for you to see him --”

 

You shush him quietly, holding him more tightly against you.  “I needed to.” 

 

You are far more appreciative for it, grounded, and for the first time in years, you feel like you can see things clearly.  

 

You sometimes wonder if your brothers will ever be able to.  

 

“Do you miss them?”  It’s as if he senses the shift in you.  Perhaps, he does. He seems to know you better than even Sam and Dean sometimes, despite how you’ve only known him for a handful of years.  

 

There’s a budding pain along old wounds etched intricately along the chasms of history flowing through your veins.  The sting is salved, however, by the sheer effervescence of his being and the effect it has on you, as well as by the light you coax out of him with each day that passes.  

 

“Not as much as I’d miss you.”  You know it sounds awful, but sometimes the truth is.  Your brothers are your blood. You will always love them, but they can’t give you what you need.  Not anymore. 

 

“You realize I have no idea what I’m doing, don’t you?”  There’s more hope in his voice than sarcasm. That you  _ do  _ recognize this.  That you haven’t somehow been tricked into thinking he has all the answers.  To be honest, you hadn’t caught on to that little caveat, but it’s a relief to know he’s making things up as much as you are.  

 

Despite neither of you having a clue, you don’t feel lost.  You actually feel settled in a way you can’t ever remember being.  The uncertainty melts away as his fingers begin to trace what you think are nonsensical patterns along the skin of your lower back, his energy slipping beneath the surface of your body.  

 

It’ll take you another three months before you realize he’s actually warding you.  The safety of it along with his intent, however, translates, nestling into your bones and relaxing you in ways you never knew you  _ could _ .    

 

Some things will never change.  You’ll still need to run. You’ll still need to keep your head down, but it won’t matter where you have to go, or how often you’ll need to move.  Home has never been a place for you, anyway. You realize it’s never truly been anything until now.

 

“Don’t worry, feathers,” you murmur into his hair.  “We’ll figure it out together.” 

 


End file.
